Best Christmas Present Ever
by So-Sings-Nightingales
Summary: A scheduled rendezvous with the Underground on Christmas Eve has a few more setbacks than Hogan and his men would have liked... beginning with Colonel Klink and a mounting snowstorm. Will one of Hogan's men miss Christmas?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: The Television series, Hogan's Heroes, belongs to CBS, Bing Crosby Productions, and its creators Bernard Fein and Albert S. Ruddy. I do not own these characters and I am not making a profit from this story. I am just taking these characters out for a walk in the park and I promise to return them in one piece.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Ah, Colonel Hogan! Come in! Sit down! Won't you have a cigar? How about some schnapps to warm you up?" rambled Colonel Klink, Kommandant of Luft Stalag XIII. A tall, bald man with a monocle in an eye and a riding crop under his arm, Klink at first glance appears to be a harsh, strict German Officer of the imperial Luftwaffe. One word out of the man's mouth is all it takes, however, to dispel that first impression.

"That's alright, sir." replied Colonel Robert Hogan, senior Prisoner of War, dusting the snow from his leather bombers jacket. "Is this going to take long? The boys are planning a Christmas party and I promised to help out with the decorations. Hey, that reminds me, could you play a little ditty for us at the party? It would mean a lot to the guys."

"That's exactly why you are here, Hogan."

"So you will play?"

"What? No! General Burkhalter and his sister, Frau Linkmeyer, are coming over for a Christmas Eve dinner. Tonight Hogan!" the last part was stated with misery lacing the Kommandant's voice.

"Did you buy them presents? Say, how about a gold ring for Frau Linkmeyer?"

"Hooooogan!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Just think," began Colonel Klink, walking over to the window and wistfully watching the snow fall. "I had a romantic evening planned with a beautiful woman I met in town the other night. And now I have to entertain the General _and_ his sister, too!"

"Colonel, if you don't mind my asking, what does this have to do with me?"

"You are going to join the Christmas Eve dinner and distract… I mean, _entertain_, Frau Linkmeyer while I can have some quality time with my beautiful guest."

"But Colonel Klink, it's Christmas Eve and I promised the boys that I would judge their Christmas Caroling contest tonight!" the American Colonel said with just the right amount of distress in his voice.

"Colonel Hogan, you _will_ be at my dinner party tonight. Six o'clock sharp."

The two officers stared each other down in a battle of wills, Hogan debating whether this was a dispute he could wriggle his way out of or not. He finally broke the silence, decision made. "Fine. But you're making me break a lot of promises to the boys and you know what that can do to morale!"

"It's just breaking my heart. Diiismisssed!"

* * *

"Problem, Colonel?" asked Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe as his commanding officer entered the barracks with a gust of wind and snow.

Corporal Peter Newkirk, Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, and Kinch watched Colonel Hogan expectantly as Corporal Louie LeBeau served everyone a round of hot coffee, their card game temporarily forgotten.

"Our dear Kommandant has invited me to his little Christmas Eve party."

"What?"

"He can't do that!"

"But what about your rendezvous with the underground tonight, sir?"

"Glad you asked, Newkirk." Hogan replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, pausing to take a sip of coffee. "You're going."

"Oh, come now, Colonel! It's freezing out there! I'm bound to catch a death a cold! You know how delicate me system is." Newkirk concluded placing his hand dramatically on his chest.

"You should have thought of that before you volunteered." Carter stated innocently.

"Here, mon ami, you can take my scarf." LeBeau said, dramatically wrapping his red scarf around Newkirk's neck.

"Bloody marvelous." Newkirk muttered. Then, looking at his commanding officer in all seriousness added, "When do I leave governor?"

"Immediately following lights-out. Come into my office, I'll give you the details…"

* * *

By the time lights out had come and gone the wind was gusting more fiercely, whipping the falling snow to and fro in tangent chaos.

"Be careful out there, Peter."

"I always am, mate." Newkirk replied cheerfully as he wrapped LeBeau's scarf securely around his neck.

"Well, be extra careful, mon ami. We do not want to have to go searching for you in _this_ weather."

Newkirk rolled his eyes as he pulled on a black knit hat. "Well, you fellas don't wait up for me. Santa Claus won't stop by if you all are awake and watching."

"I think we've blown up one too many bridges to even be considered on the "nice" list." commented Kinch with a smile.

"Well, I'd be okay with that." Carter stated seriously.

Newkirk looked up from his gloves, confusion gracing his handsome features. "Now why is that, Carter?"

"If we were on the "naughty" list, then that would mean Santa would leave coal for us. Then we could actually warm up the barracks for once!"

That received a round of laughter, which relieved some nervous tension that all the men were feeling.

"Well, mates, I best be heading off."

"Yeah, you better not keep _Mother Nature_ waiting."

"_Mother Nature_." muttered Newkirk as he started towards the emergency exit. "Who comes up with these code names?"

Carter followed Newkirk in silence while Kinch and LeBeau stayed in the main tunnel by the radio.

Newkirk regarded the ladder leading upwards to the inside of a tree stump, mentally preparing himself for the freezing temperature.

"Well, I guess it's now or never."

"Wait!" Carter called as Newkirk stepped onto the first rung.

"Yes Andrew?"

"Make sure you don't miss Christmas, Peter. It wouldn't be the same without you."

"Andrew, I'll be gone three hours tops. I won't miss Christmas."

"Promise?" asked Carter quietly, his blue eyes shining with concern.

"I promise." Newkirk replied, flashing a confident smile before ascending the ladder and plunging into the frigid night.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Thanks for reading! I actually wrote this awhile ago but figured I'd wait until "Christmas time" to post it (and after some minor editing). I've been away from the "Hogan's Heroes world" for a little while and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story, so please review! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those who reviewed and are following this story! **

**Enjoy Chapter 2! **

* * *

Within five minutes of emerging from the tree stump, Newkirk's feet were soaking wet and his cheeks were rosy red, breath escaping in clouded puffs to mix with the snow dance. Despite the forested area, visibility was next to nothing due to the howling wind sending snow to fly in random arcs, the trees useless to block the harrowing storm. The British Corporal had to rely on instincts rather than sight to guide him to the rendezvous point. Every so often a brilliant moon would peek through the dense clouds, plunging the snow's swirling dance into silver light, causing the woodland to look surreal.

Regardless of the harsh conditions of the night, Newkirk knew better than to travel oblivious. By no means was the British Corporal paranoid, he just wished to survive the duration of the war. So he kept a keen ear attentive for any patrols. _It's highly unlikely that there are any krauts out and about with it being Christmas Eve and this blasted weather. They're all probably sitting beside a roaring fire with a mug of ale in one hand… but better to be safe than sorry Peter ol' boy!_

* * *

Newkirk eyed a figure standing a few paces away, studying the form and comparing it to the description Hogan had given the British Corporal. Or at least he was _trying_ to, with visibility being less than ideal at that particular moment. Heaving a long suffering sigh, Newkirk stepped away from his hiding spot behind a large tree and advanced towards what he hoped was the Underground Agent.

Maneuvering so that he approached from behind the figure, Newkirk took a deep breath before uttering, "Do you know why the chicken crossed the road?"

The figure turned around with a sparkle in cerulean eyes, unfazed by the voice from behind. A sweet, yet thick, German accent replied to the code-phrase, "Apples are not in season."

"Do you know the muffin man?"

"Pomegranates are the fruit of kings. Are you Papa Bear?"

"Papa Bear couldn't make it tonight, love. I am one of his cubs, Phantom. I am very pleased to meet you, Mother Nature, but I really could have done without this snow."

A small but beautiful smile lit up the young woman's face. Mother Nature replied good-naturedly, "You will have to take that up with my secretary." She paused before quickly turning serious, reaching into her shawl and removing an envelope. "Here is the information that London requested about the agents we believe to have been bought by the gestapo."

Newkirk accepted the precious information with a nod, quickly unzipping his jacket to shove the envelope in a safe pocket, shivering at the blast of cold that tried to suck away his remaining body heat. Crossing his arms across his now frigid chest, the Corporal asked conversationally, "How's the radio coming along?"

"It should be fixed in a day or two. But London was pretty anxious about receiving that information, and you are the closet radio to us."

"I understand, love. This information will be sent out before you know it. You know, if we were having nicer weather, I would have offered to take you on a moon-lit stroll, but I'm really looking forward to crawling into a semi-warm bed as soon as possible."

Mother Nature laughed softly. "I best get going before I am missed, Phantom, but thank you for the charming thought."

"Well, farewell sweetheart, and be careful." Newkirk kissed Mother Nature's gloved hand in farewell.

"You too, Phantom."

Newkirk watched as Mother Nature made her retreat with chocolate curls peeking out from under a green-plaid scarf and bouncing about her delicate shoulders. Her long brown travel skirt and navy wool shawl waving lazily in the wind really _did_ make the Underground Agent look as if she could have really been Mother Nature herself.

Newkirk sighed as a gust of wind thrust snow into his face and reluctantly turned to begin the long trek back to the Stalag XIII.

* * *

Newkirk had barely left the rendezvous spot when a shot rang out through the snow covered forest. Instinctively, the Corporal dashed behind a tree, pressing his back against the rough bark, listening intently for any out-of-place sounds.

The prisoner of war stood motionless in the stirring forest, slowing his breathing and racing heart. Mentally counting to ten and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, Newkirk slowly peeked around the tree trunk in the direction where the shot sounded like it came from. The Corporal's trained eyes momentarily saw the barrel of a gun as it reflected the moonlight. Cautiously and as silently as humanly possible, Newkirk moved from behind the tree and made his way through the drifting snow until he was behind the man with the gun—the uniform clearly gestapo. Newkirk's breath caught in this throat as he saw what lay just beyond the gestapo agent—Mother Nature. She was in a crumpled heap on the ground, oblivious to the wind tugging her navy shawl away from her slender body. Due to the lack in visibility, Newkirk could not tell if the agent was alive or not.

A million questions swarmed through Newkirk's mind. _How long was that Gestapo there? Did he observe the exchange of information—could he identify me? Who did he follow, Mother Nature or me?_ The last thought sent a shiver down the Corporal's spine, one that had nothing to do with the below-zero temperature.

After what felt like an eternity, the gestapo agent took one final scan of the quiet forest and ambled off towards the main road. Newkirk forced himself to stay put for a full minute before making his way towards Mother Nature's inert body. Kneeling down, he hesitated before placing two fingers on the cold, exposed neck—no pulse. Newkirk sighed, lifting blue eyes to the somber heavens and said a silent prayer.

Newkirk began preparing her body, intending to take the Underground Agent back to camp, but a harsh voice stopped the stiff movements.

"Halt! Hande hoch!"

Newkirk closed his eyes in frustration. Lifting gloved hands and composing his face the prisoner of war stood. "Guten Abend! Ich ein Mädchen gefindet! Sie ist tot!"

The gestapo agent let out a humorless, cruel laugh. "Your German is terrible." Without warning another shot broke through the unsettled night.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Please excuse my German if I butchered it... it's been a while since I studied the language. I hope you liked this chapter regardless and don't forget to review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all who review and follow! I appreciate every single one :)**

**Please, enjoy! **

* * *

"Gin."

"Carter, that is the fifth game you lost! This is _your_ game, what is bothering you mon ami?" asked LeBeau as he carefully descended the ladder with a fresh pot of coffee in one hand, promptly filling each cup to the brim. The Frenchman, however, knew exactly what was on the young American's mind.

"I don't know. I just keep thinking about Newkirk I guess." That was why the game was started not long after the three prisoners of war saw Newkirk off, to keep their minds occupied. It obviously was not working.

"He's not due for another hour, Andrew." commented Kinch softly, shuffling the cards for another round as concern gleamed within his own eyes despite the confident words.

Carter glanced absently over his shoulder towards the emergency exit, as if expecting the British Corporal to waltz on into the radio room at any moment, smile on his face and demanding a warm blanket and hot cup of tea. "Yeah."

LeBeau and Kinch exchanged worried glances at Carter's uncharacteristic short reply.

The radioman peeked at his watch, laying the deck of cards next to the radio. "It's getting pretty late. Why don't you both head on up and get some sleep? I'll hold the fort until Peter returns."

"I'd rather wait for Newkirk."

LeBeau looked at Kinch sheepishly and shrugged. "Me too."

Kinch smiled, dealing out the cards.

* * *

Hogan glanced at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time during the Christmas Eve dinner. The Senior Prisoner of War was worried, yet it was not a new sensation. The Colonel was always anxious whenever he sent a man out on a mission the he himself could not go on.

_Newkirk's not due back for another hour. _

However, like Carter, Hogan had an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach and it was not from the sauerbraten and potatoes that he had been forced to consumed over the course of the evening. Frau Linkmeyer was currently in the grips of an enthralling story over a recent trip to Paris, but Hogan was really not in the mood. He just wanted to get back to the barracks to be with his men. It was Christmas Eve after all and Newkirk was out on _his_ mission, one that could potentially be dangerous.

_Aren't they all?_

Colonel Klink had arranged it so that the American Colonel was seated in a hard wooden chair beside the General's sister while the commander of the Stalag placed himself beside his personal guest on a loveseat as far away as possible.

"Need to go somewhere, Colonel?" questioned a tipsy General Burkhalter before taking a long sip of his red wine, his sister still plowing through her story despite the interruption. The German Officer lounged in an armchair across from the American with his booted feet propped on a coffee table, his large bulk easily filling the stuffed seat.

"No. I was just confirming my suspicions of it being past the Colonel's bed time." He leaned closer to Frau Linkmeyer and continued in a whisper loud enough for all to hear, "Klink gets cranky if he doesn't get his full eight hours of sleep."

"Oh, really? How interesting." Frau Linkmeyer purred, finally abandoning her recount as she turned towards Klink with a smile, which in turn caused the German Colonel to cower in his seat.

"Hoooogan!"

* * *

Falling.

He was falling backwards down a steep embankment that he had not even realized was behind him. The bullet had taken Newkirk by such surprise that the British Corporal did not have a chance to utter a sound, only a surprised gasp as gravity took control of the precarious situation. Eventually losing momentum, the prisoner of war came to a halt flat on his back, a few dozen paces from where he previously stood. Desperately fighting off feelings of vertigo, Newkirk slowly became aware of a flaring ache in his left shoulder, radiating pain throughout his body in rhythm to every racing heartbeat. Gradually, Newkirk became aware of a faint cracking noise that seemed distant yet near at the same time. Puzzled at first, his mind tried to decipher what his ears were hearing, but Newkirk soon realized with a sense of dread _exactly_ what it was.

Newkirk closed his eyes dejectedly. Yes, the prisoner of war could even visualize exactly where he was on the map in his head. He had landed on an iced covered river. Even if Newkirk was in perfect health there was nothing that the Corporal could have done. The stress fracture was irreversible. It was all Newkirk could do but take a deep breath before he was enveloped by the icy fingers of the water.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Sorry for the short chapter, it was a pain to edit! But I hope it was short yet sweet? Please review! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to all who take a moment to read, review and/or follow! :)**

* * *

Something was not right. Hogan just _knew_ it, for he could feel it deep inside his being. There was no way that science could explain the connection that the American Colonel had with the men under his command, but Hogan always _knew_ when a mission had gone south. Hogan shuddered at the thought of something happening to his man in weather like that night's—especially with it being Christmas Eve.

The American Colonel sighed, careful to keep his expression neutral. Should he have cancelled the mission? The snow could make traveling dangerous— was it worth the risk? Ultimately, yes. The meeting would provide England with vital information that the Underground had no way of sending with their radio currently in disrepair. Plus, the Underground had voiced concerns of being watched, hence the meeting on Christmas Eve. They hoped the Germans would be too busy drinking and celebrating to devote their whole attention to the Underground. Hogan almost groaned out loud. The meeting could be compromised and Newkirk might be walking into a trap when it should be _him_ out there!

Unfortunately there was nothing Hogan could do while at Klink's party, which showed no signs of wrapping up.

*HH*

When Hogan _was_ finally released from Klink's Christmas Eve dinner it was shortly after midnight and the snow was falling continuously, promising to accumulate to record depths. Sargent Hans Schultz escorted Hogan back to Barracks Two, the distance seemingly to have doubled with the snow having accumulated close to six inches, making walking difficult.

"Good night, Shultz." Colonel Hogan said wearily, both in body and spirit, at the doorstep of his assigned barracks.

"Guten Abend. And Frohe Weihnachten."

Hogan smiled. "Merry Christmas." He then entered the barrack quickly, trying to let in as little cold as possible. Expecting, and _hoping_, to find all his men to be asleep, Hogan silently latched the door and turned about. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the senior prisoner of war noted four empty bunks. The uneasy feeling growing, Hogan opened the false bottom bunk and descended the ladder.

"Hello, Colonel. How was the party?" asked Carter with forced optimism upon seeing his commanding officer.

"Oh, you know Klink, quite the host." Hogan looked at the three worried faces. "Newkirk's not back yet?"

"Non, mon Colonel."

"He was due back over an hour ago! Should we go looking for him?"

"Not yet, Carter. The weather could have delayed the meeting." Hogan looked at this watch. "We'll give him forty-five minutes and if he's not back by then, we'll go out looking."

* * *

Newkirk regained consciousness with a start, disoriented and shivering violently. Slowly, almost too slowly, the events of the past hour returned to his memory with such a crushing force it was physically painful. The weary Corporal lifted his head and regarded his surroundings with a grimace on a too pale face. Funny, the British Corporal could not remember pulling himself out of the water and up the hill. A lump in the snow caught Newkirk's eye, but it took his brain a moment for it to register—the mound was the Underground agent. Painfully, Newkirk pulled himself to his feet and unsteadily shuffled the short distance to the snow covered body only to collapse beside it. Despite the uncontrollable shaking in Newkirk's hands he tenderly brushed the snow off of Mother Nature's face and closed the unseeing eyes. Even in death the young woman was beautiful.

_What a waste of a life! Death was Mother Nature's payment for trying to free the country she loved. Is that the fate of all who try to do right? _

"I'm so sorry love." Newkirk whispered, voice filled with deep sorrow. He did not even know this poor woman's real name. Taking one last look at the Underground Agent the Corporal mustered every ounce of strength left in him to stand. Once on his feet again, Newkirk turned his back on the dead agent and began the long trek back "home".

*HH*

After what hat seemed like a few minutes later Newkirk cracked open his eyes, unaware that they had even been closed. The prisoner of war also had no recollection on how he had ended up face down on the ground. Fortunate for him, Newkirk had fallen into a slight ditch somewhat under the boughs of a nearby tree. Although Newkirk was still terribly cold, at least he was sheltered from the wind and that in and of itself warmed the corporal albeit slightly.

Newkirk slowly rolled onto his back, gasping as a sudden pain erupted in his left shoulder and ribcage. As the initial burst of pain subsided into a dull throb, Newkirk became acutely aware of a warm substance running sluggishly down his skin.

He was tired. Newkirk sighed and closed his eyes, right hand absently going to his neck to finger the scarf wrapped around it.

_LeBeau, my little mate!_

With new found strength, Newkirk pushed himself up into a semi-seated position. Unwinding the red scarf from around his neck the Corporal wrapped the bleeding shoulder as best as he could with one hand. The exertion from the sudden burst of energy left Newkirk shaking and sweating. Patting the envelop in his breast pocket, the injured prisoner of war climbed out of the ditch and stumbled off in the direction of Stalag 13.

* * *

**Author's Note****: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter... please review? :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to all who reviewed and are following this story! **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

Newkirk could have cried for joy upon seeing the barbed wire fence and roaming search lights. It was an odd feeling—being delighted on returning to a prisoner of war camp. The British Corporal expertly, and as silently as possible on unsteady legs, made his way to the tree stump, which shimmered beautifully in the snow as if inviting him inside. Quickly ducking behind the hidden door a search light passed overhead. Although the light had long since passed, Newkirk lay motionless behind the tunnel entrance, having lost all control over his wearied body. Newkirk's mind was yelling at him to _move_, but his damaged body would not respond. One step away from warmth and safety, Newkirk gave into the elements and exhaustion, unable to fight the ever-lingering darkness any longer.

* * *

Hogan checked his watch anxiously, absent mindedly wondering why his watch was running _so slow_. It took every ounce of self control within the American Colonel to wait the allotted 45 minutes for Newkirk's possible return. However, Hogan could wait no longer.

_It's close enough_.

Slapping his hands on his knees the senior prisoner of war rose to his feet, instantly gaining the attention of the other worried men. "Alright Carter, LeBeau, let's go find our missing boy. Kinch, hold the fort."

There was a chorus of "yes sirs" as Hogan turned and walked purposely towards the emergency exit, slipping on a black jacket and cap as he went. Knowing his men would be right behind him, Hogan wasted no time in swiftly ascended the ladder. Taking the necessary precautions to insure that the spot light had swept by and no guards were milling about the Colonel opened the top of the trunk and exited hastily, his body seemingly unable to move when his feet hit the frozen ground and his eyes glued to the snow. For literally, right at Hogan's feet was his missing man.

* * *

Carter was halfway up the ladder when the hatch opened and his commanding officer's face appeared from above, drawn tight with worry. "LeBeau, go get Wilson and have him meet me in my office! Quickly!"

Carter and LeBeau exchanged concerned glances before LeBeau scurried back down the tunnel, veering off on the path that would lead to the barrack that housed the camp's medic. Carter scaled the rest of the ladder, missing a ring and nearly falling back down in his haste, and jumped out into the icy wind, crouching beside his commanding officer. The young American's face brightened up upon seeing his friend, but soon fell into a look of concern when Newkirk didn't react to their presence.

"Colonel, is he…"

"He's alive, Carter, but we have to get him inside."

Carter nodded as he helped Hogan prepare Newkirk for the descent, unnerved by the lack of reaction they got from his friend—especially the lack of shivering.

* * *

"Easy, Carter." Hogan directed as the two American's maneuvered Newkirk's limp body up the ladder and into the barracks. The light from Hogan's office shone out into the main barracks, illuminating tired faces filled with concern. A hush fell in the room as the trio hurried into Hogan's room, gently laying the unconscious Englishman on the lower bunk.

"Colonel, what happened?" questioned Sergeant Wilson, the camp medic, as soon as the office door was shut.

Hogan threw his crushed cap onto the worn desk and ran a hand through disheveled hair. "I wish I knew. Newkirk was late from meeting his contact with the Underground and when we went out to look for him, I found him unconscious not two feet from the emergency exit." Hogan explained as Wilson sat on the edge of the bunk to begin his examination.

"We need to get Newkirk out of these wet clothes and warm him up. His temperature is way too low for my comfort."

Hogan turned to the worried men standing by the door, looking lost. "LeBeau, grab one of Newkirk's uniforms from his foot locker."

"Oui, Colonel."

"Carter." Hogan motioned with his head towards Newkirk as he began unlacing his injured Corporal's boots.

Carter knelt by his friend's head, observing the Englishman's pale complexion and shallow breathing. Taking Newkirk's right hand in his own, Carter gently removed the soggy glove, cringing at the icy cold feel and blue tinged fingers. Without giving it much thought, he began gingerly rubbed the freezing hand, trying to restore circulation and warmth.

"It's okay, Carter. Just get the other glove off then we can work on his jacket and shirt. He'll begin to warm up once he's dry." Wilson said softly, noting the deep concern in the young Sergeant's eyes. The medic then directed his voice to his commanding officer. "I think that it'd be best if we cut off Newkirk's clothes, Colonel."

"Oh Newkirk won't be very happy about that. He spent a lot of work on these clothes." Carter commented as Hogan retrieved a pair of scissors from their hiding spot and handed them over to Wilson.

"Well he'll just have to deal with it. I want these wet clothes off of him." Wilson stated as he began snipping at a sleeve. "Hello… what do we have here?"

"That's LeBeau's scarf." Carter said without hesitation.

"But what's it doing _around Newkirk's shoulder_?"

Hogan bent forward, furrowing his brow as he spotted the red scarf in the dim light.

"I put some water on to boil, Wilson, if you need it." LeBeau announced, walking back into the office and placing Newkirk's spare uniform on the desk.

"Thanks, LeBeau." Wilson said over his shoulder as he carefully removed the scarf. The medic glanced at Hogan, who was leaning on the side of the bunk next to him. "Colonel, help me roll Newkirk onto his side—he's been shot."

* * *

**Author's Note****: Thanks for reading! I would love to hear any and all thoughts so don't forget to review! :) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to all who left a review! I appreciate the feedback! **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

Wilson sat heavily on the only chair in the small office, sighing in complete exhaustion. He had been awakened sometime after midnight by the little Frenchman and had been running on pure adrenaline ever since. The medic tiredly glanced at his patient, pale and unmoving on the bottom bunk and wrapped in multiple blankets which were readily donated by the other men of the barracks. A small smile tugged at the corner or Wilson's lips as his commanding officer tenderly tucked the edge of a blanket closer around Newkirk. A light knock on the closed door caught the attention of both men.

"Come in." called Colonel Hogan softly, moving closer to the door to intercept their visitor.

Kinch poked his head in before emerging completely into the room, shutting the door before speaking. "I sent the information we found on Newkirk to London, sir. They send their gratitude."

"Thanks, Kinch. You can tell LeBeau and Carter they can come back in, Wilson's finished."

Kinch nodded before slipping back behind the door, returning moments later followed closely by LeBeau and Carter.

"How is he?" immediately asked Carter to no one in particular as he made a bee line to Newkirk's side.

Wilson sighed and looked to his commanding officer for permission to speak, who nodded his approval, before beginning. "I'll tell it to you straight, Newkirk's in bad shape. The bullet to his shoulder was clean through and through and somehow missed any bones and major arteries. The freezing temperatures slowed the bleeding, but he has lost a good amount of blood regardless. It also helped that at one point he was coherent enough to wrap LeBeau's scarf around the shoulder which aided in slowing the blood flow further. There are also some bruises and cracked ribs and him being soaking wet did not help his condition any. We just need to keep him warm to reduce his chances in developing any long term complications."

The four worried men remained silent as the impact of Wilson's words sunk in.

"What can we do for him?" Carter questioned, barely above a whisper.

"Keep him as warm as possible and get fluids into him when you can."

"I will get Schultz to salvage chicken bones and leftover meat from Klink's kitchen and make a broth." LeBeau said with determination.

"Sounds perfect." Wilson responded wearily. "There's nothing else I can do, Colonel. With your permission, sir, may I go back to my barracks?"

"Sure, Wilson. Thanks for the help." Hogan patted the sergeant's back fondly as he passed by.

"I can see myself out. Just let me know if there are any changes, but I'll come back after roll call to check in."

"Will do. Now go get some sleep, Sergeant, that's an order."

* * *

"Sir, what _are_ we going to do about roll call? Klink will know instantly if Newkirk isn't there."

"First off, Kinch, I don't think that our resilient Kommandant will hold roll call in this weather—he'll probably just send Schultz for a head count. We can say that Newkirk is sick. That's all Shultz will want to know, anyway." Hogan concluded with a smile.

"How are we supposed to keep Newkirk warm, sir? It's freezing in here!" came Carter's voice filled with desperation.

Hogan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's warmer in here than out in the main barracks and he's under a few layers. That's all we really _can_ do, Carter." Hogan glanced at his watch. "Why don't you fellows go and get some sleep. We have three hours before our neighborhood guard should come knocking."

None of his men made any move to leave—except for Carter whose face brightened with the formation of a _brilliant_ idea. The sergeant jumped up from his perch beside Newkirk, and ran out of the room, magically not tripping on an untied shoelace.

Stunned, Hogan, LeBeau, and Kinch stared after Carter's fleeing back. Before any of them could react, Carter returned, clutching his own blanket in hand. Realizing that everyone was staring at him the young American stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Carter, what are you doing?" Hogan asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh, well sir, all I wanted for Christmas was for all of us to be together. I just want Newkirk to know that he isn't alone, since it technically _is_ Christmas." Carter paused, remember _who_ he was talking to and _whose_ room he was invading. "So if it's alright with you, sir, I'd like to spend the night here." Blue eyes fell to look at the floor sheepishly.

Noting the sincerity in the young sergeant's eyes and voice, all Hogan could say was, "Sure, Carter."

The American looked up at his commanding officer. "Thank you, sir." he said softly before maneuvering next to the bottom bunk.

Then, to everyone's amazement, Carter squeezed himself onto the mattress beside Newkirk, covering them both with his own blanket and promptly falling asleep with an arm draped protectively across his unconscious friend.

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**Author's Note:**** Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Review are more than welcome- including constructive criticism. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to everyone who favorite, follow, and/or review! **

**Enjoy!**

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Hogan was not sure what woke him up, but the American colonel came to with a start, momentarily disoriented for he had fallen asleep slouched over his desk. Hogan winced as he straightened up, back protesting with a loud _crack_. The events of the evening and early morning all came back to the American colonel. Hogan glanced at his watch—about ten minutes before Shultz should be lumbering in for a head count. Hogan slowly rose to his feet and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Turning to face his bunk, a smile graced the Colonel's tired features.

Carter had not moved during the night and was still asleep curled against Newkirk. LeBeau had somehow squeezed himself onto the foot of the bunk and was sleeping peacefully despite his contorted position. Kinch… he was nowhere to be seen, but Hogan had a feeling that his second in command had made use of the upper bunk.

Hogan walked over to the bunk and peered worriedly at his injured corporal. Newkirk had not moved, which was probably a good thing due to his injuries. However, the British corporal's head now faced the warm body next to him, a content look on his flushed face. Upon laying a hand on Newkirk's forehead, Hogan confirmed that the Englishman had a slight fever. _At least it's an improvement from when we found him_.

Just then the door opened and in tip-toed Kinch, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee.

"You weren't planning on drinking both of them yourself, were you Kinch?" teased Hogan quietly.

"No sir." The sergeant replied with a smile, relinquishing one of the mugs.

Hogan took a draw of the weak liquid, relishing the warmth. He walked back over to his desk motioning for Kinch to follow. "What's the weather report for today?"

"I looked out the door and the snow accumulation's got to be close to two feet. The wind is still pretty rough and has knocked out our radio." Kinch reported, leaning close to Hogan as to not wake the still sleeping men.

"Then it's a good thing we got that information off to London when we did."

Kinch agreed, sipping his coffee.

Just then they heard the barracks door slam open and Schultz calling, "Achtung!"

"Well, our loveable Sergeant is here."

"What gave it away, sir?"

"The sudden drop in temperature."

"Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan!" whined Sergeant Schultz as he burst into the office. "Where are Carter, Newkirk, Kinchloe, and the Cockroach?"

"Well, Kinch is right next to you, and the rest of the boys are right here." Hogan gestured without missing a beat.

The German guard stood gaping for a moment, trying to form a coherent thought. "What are they doing still in bed? And _why_ are they in the _same_ bed?"

"You really want to know, Schultz?"

"No. I know nothing. Nothiiinggg!" With that, Schultz turned his back to leave but paused halfway through the office door. "Oh, prisoners are confined to barracks because of the snow until further notice."

"So that means no snowball fights?"

"No snowball fights, no snow angels, no igloo building, and NO FUNNY BUSINESS!"

"Okay, okay! Just clarifying, Shultz!"

"Sure you were." Shultz mumbled leaving in a hurry before the senior prisoner of war could delay him from a hot second breakfast.

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"What's all the noise?" moaned a bleary-eyed Carter. "Hey! Newkirk's _warm_!"

"It looks like your idea of sharing body heat worked." Hogan walked over to LeBeau, shaking his shoulder gently. "Time to wake up sleepy head."

"Just a couple more minutes, Colonel. I was just about to serve the main course to the most _beautiful_ girl!"

"Are you going to let a corporal talk to you like that, Colonel?" asked an amused Wilson, leaning in the door frame.

Hogan gave Wilson a mischievous smile. "Oh your feet, Corporal, on the double!"

"Á votre disposition! I am at your service, mon Colonel!" LeBeau snapped to attention, saluting.

"Why don't you go make some breakfast?"

"Sure, Colonel."

"Kinch, Carter." Hogan motioned for them to leave.

"I'll be back soon, buddy." Carter patted Newkirk's arm softly before detangling himself carefully from the nest of blankets and retreating after Kinch and the Frenchman.

"Any problems since I was last here?"

"No, he slept through the night without moving, but I think he has a fever."

"Alright then, let's look into that." Wilson said absently, pulling a thermometer out of his bag, shaking it a couple of times before gently placing it between Newkirk's lips. The medic then went on with his examination, methodically checking Newkirk's injuries. After changing the dressing covering the bullet wound, Wilson replaced the blankets and took the thermometer, holding it up to the light. "100 on the nose—nothing to be overly concerned about, but I'll take his temperature again later today. There's also no sign of infection, so my best bet is that the fever is from Newkirk's body trying to cope after being in those wet clothes and the trauma from the injuries."

"So he's going to be okay?"

"Only time will tell, sir. The sooner he wakes up the better." Wilson closed his medical bag. "When he wakes up make sure that he doesn't move around too much. I don't want him opening up his shoulder again or jostling those ribs too much."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

"No problem, Colonel. If there are any changes send one of your men to get me."

"Will do, Wilson."

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"You know, Newkirk, you promised you'd be here for Christmas. And this doesn't count. You can't sing carols, open presents— not that we have many—or eat the dinner LeBeau's preparing." The young American sergeant was sitting on the floor, chin resting on his hands which were in turn on the bunk, so he was eye-level with his unconscious friend. "And do you know what the Colonel did? Well first off, do you remember that package we picked up last week from the air drop? It was _filled_ with peppermint sticks! Everybody in camp got one, including Shultz! Yours is waiting for you and I _refuse_ to eat mine until you wake up!"

Carter waited, but Newkirk did not even stir. "Boy, what a Christmas this has turned out to be." Letting lose a sigh the young sergeant turned his head to lay a cheek on his hands. A resonance deep in his throat, a hum of _The First Noel_, began to mournfully permeate the ever lingering silence. It soon led to singing, his clear baritone voice easily filling the small office.

"_Noel, noel! Noel, noel! Born is the King of Israel!_"

"I told you I wouldn't miss Christmas, Andrew."

"Newkirk?" Carter whispered, lifting his head hesitantly, coming face to face with a bleary-eyed Englishman.

"Merry Christmas, mate."

Carter was so overjoyed to see his friend awake all he could do was smile the broadest smile he ever gave. "Merry Christmas, buddy! Don't go anywhere I have to go get the Colonel! Boy is he going to be happy!" With that Carter ran out of the room and returned seconds later with Hogan, LeBeau, and Kinch in tow.

Hogan perched himself on the edge of the bunk, placing his cool hand on Newkirk's fevered brow as everyone else crowded around. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, sir." But his discomfort showed in his eyes. His voice was barely above whisper. "I take it that I didn't miss Christmas?"

Hogan grinned. "Nope, you are just in time."

Carter went back to his former position sitting on the floor, chin on this hands. "Boy, this is the best Christmas present _ever_!"

Newkirk slowly turned his head so he was facing the young sergeant. "What do you mean?"

Carter unashamedly took Newkirk's hand in his own. "We're all here together on Christmas—like a family. Together."

Everyone fell silent as every eye suddenly became misty at Carter's insight. Being in a prison camp for so long away from their families, the holidays always brought the men down. But a certain peace filled their hearts—yes, they still missed their loved ones, but here in the middle of Germany, in a prisoner of war camp of all places, the men of Stalag 13 had a family.

Hogan finally broke the silence. "Kinch."

"Yes sir?"

"Go get Wilson. He's going to want to know our boy is awake."

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**Author's Note:**** Thanks for reading! The end is in sight- one little epilogue left. Don't forget to review!**

**Hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas and a joyous holiday season! :) **


	8. Epilogue

**So sorry for the long wait, but here it is- the final chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

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A week had passed since Hogan and his men had found Newkirk more dead than alive early Christmas morning. Newkirk had been in and out of consciousness on Christmas day, but ever since then, had remained oblivious to the world, waking for only a few moments at a time which the men took full advantage of, forcing water and broth into the injured corporal.

His injuries were on the mend but Newkirk was currently battling a minor bout of pneumonia, due to the dip in the river. Hogan sat vigilant beside the lower bunk in his office that Newkirk had recently been occupying.

The American Colonel sighed. They still did not know fully what had happened to Newkirk that horrific night or what had became of his contact. Kinch had recently received word over the radio that Mother Nature had never made it back from her meeting with Newkirk and, due to the heavy snow, what little search efforts that could be conducted proved unsuccessful.

Movement on the bed broke Hogan's thoughts as fever-glazed blue eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, Newkirk, it's good to see you awake! How do you feel?"

"Colonel?" Newkirk croaked before diving into a coughing fit—each cough sending jarring pain through the corporal's healing body. Hogan supported him in a semi-seated position and pressed a glass of water to Newkirk's lips as the spasms subsided.

After Newkirk drank his fill Hogan gently laid his injured corporal back on the mattress, resting his head and shoulders on a few folded jackets to keep him elevated and breathing easier.

Hogan kept his hand on Newkirk's arm. "You okay?"

"Blimey." Newkirk gasped, grimacing. He took a few controlled breaths before continuing. "How long have I been out?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Newkirk furrowed his brows. "The last thing I remember is Wilson poking at me ribs."

Hogan laughed, encouraged to hear Newkirk's wit once again.

The British corporal closed his eyes and sighed.

"Newkirk?"

"Yes sir?" came the weary reply, blue eyes opening once more to look expectantly at his commanding officer.

"What happened out there?"

A deep sadness filled the normally lively eyes before his head turned away. "Mother Nature was followed by a Gestapo agent and… he killed her after she passed off the information."

Hogan waited patiently for the Englishman to continue.

"I was going to bring her back to the Stalag… so her body could be returned to her family, if she even had any, but that's when the bloody Kraut shot me." Newkirk looked back to Hogan. "I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her out there Colonel, but after me tumble down the hill and the short swim, I couldn't carry her. I just… couldn't." Newkirk's eyes misted and he blinked a few times. "She was so young, Colonel."

"She knew the risks, like we all do, that comes with the job." He paused, then added, "You did all you could."

"But it wasn't enough. I left her out there!" Newkirk coughed weakly, turning away again.

Hogan leaned forward. "Newkirk." No response. "Peter, look at me." Slowly Newkirk looked back, visibly trying to keep his emotions in check. "You completed the mission; her death was not in vain."

"But…"

"No buts. If we hadn't found you when we did, you would have frozen to death. If you had spent the effort to drag Mother Nature along, you would have never made it back and would be dead, buried underneath three feet of snow, with the information still in your pocket. Our operation here _and_ the Underground would have been in jeopardy." Hogan paused, knowing he gotten through to his corporal as a tear ran down the British man's fevered cheek.

Hogan patted Newkirk's arm comfortingly. "The boys will be glad to know you're awake."

"Newkirk swiped the stray tear. "Where are they anyway?"

Hogan smiled mischievously. "Shoveling, and taking their time at that. The snow drifted so high against our fearless Kommandant's quarters he's been stuck in there with General Burkhalter, Frau Linkmeyer, and his hot date for a week now. We're still taking bets on who we'll find alive, if you're interested in entering."

Newkirk could only stare incredulously for a moment before _what_ he had just heard sunk in. Both men broke out laughing, which led to Newkirk having another coughing fit.

"Cor, Colonel, don't make me laugh!"

_Yup, Newkirk will be just fine. _

Having the team safe and together for Christmas was all Colonel Hogan could ask for. In Hogan's mind Carter was right, that simple request really was the best Christmas present ever.

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**Author's Note:**** Thanks for reading! :)**


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